


Sea of Red

by KananOrgana



Category: Star Wars: Rebels
Genre: Anastasia AU, F/M, Gen, Kanera History Au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-17
Updated: 2020-03-19
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:08:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23188279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KananOrgana/pseuds/KananOrgana
Summary: Anastasia Romanov was 18 when her father abdicated the throne to the Empire of Russia. She and her family were herded into the basement of the home that became their prison, and while her family perished, she managed to survive...But if she wants to stay alive, she’ll have to trust the Bolshevik that has taken to protecting her, even if that means changing everything she’s ever known and joining the ranks of her worst enemy.Or: The Anastasia Romanov AU with a bit of a twist
Relationships: Alexsandr Kallus/Garazeb "Zeb" Orrelios, Kanan Jarrus/Hera Syndulla
Comments: 5
Kudos: 22





	1. July 16, 1918

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know Anastasia was 17 when she died. Just a tweak

Anastasia Romanov rose from a pile of bodies after the guards that so mercilessly cut them down hurried back upstairs. The damn fools were drunk out of their minds; it took her poor brother far too long to die. It was worse for her sisters; they’d all stashed their jewels in their corsets, thinking they’d be leaving their awful home. 

They were wrong.

The Bolsheviks ushered them all into the basement where they shot her parents dead; then came time for the children. The thought of killing innocents plagued them, so they made sure to get “good” and drunk before raising their pistols.

Only Anastasia didn’t die. She was bleeding profusely, sure, but she couldn’t tell whose blood it was, but her corset had been packed with the majority of the family’s jewels. She went down like the others, but found herself frozen. Her inability to fight for herself ended up being the thing that saved her life. But now she lay amongst her dead family and wished nothing more than to join them.

The basement door creaked open and she dropped back onto her brother’s side.

“Duchess, Duchess, I know you can hear me.” Called the voice of her once favorite Royal Imperial Guard. He’d left, though...he left before her father had even abdicated…

“Garazeb?” She whispered.

“Yes, Tsarina.”

“Garazeb, I am not the tsarina.” Anastasia frowned. The abnormally tall man hung his head solemnly.

“You are now. But you must never tell anyone!” He sighed and knelt down so that he was at the princess’ eye level. “You  _ must _ listen carefully to what I am about to tell you.” He pulled a packet of papers from behind his back and held them out to Anastasia. “Your name is now Hera Syndulla. You know nothing of the royal family. You are a Bolshevik from the French countryside. You joined the Revolution while in Russia for your studies. Anastasia Romanov is no more. Only Hera Syndulla. I am going to smuggle you in my truck and we are going into town. You need to watch for the pink tree--an apple tree. You see that, you drop out of the truck and go to the house next to the tavern it sits before. Knock three times. And  _ trust  _ the man that lives there.”

“But Garazeb, how did you--?”

“I joined the Reds just before the strike that led to your father’s abdication,” Zeb explained, glancing over his shoulder. “Please, Hera, trust me. I am trying to keep you alive. My duty lies with you. You  _ must _ trust me. I will return to you when I can. You can trust this man.”

“What is this man’s name?”

“Kanan Jarrus. He is rough around the edges, but you must rely on him. He is a good man. No matter what happens,  _ trust him. _ ” Zeb urged.

“Why Hera?” She asked. Zeb smiled softly and placed a hand on Anastasi-- _ Hera _ ’s shoulder.

“Because Hera was the beloved goddess.” Zeb smiled sadly. “Now come, quickly, before the other guards return. Lay on this cloth. I will roll you up, but not too tightly. Remember the tree, Hera.”

It was all too much information at once. Hera. The tree. The man. Her family lay  _ dead.  _ She was the last Romanov, and now she could even have  _ that _ much. Everything she knew was gone, and with this new government, it would stay gone. She knew nothing of provincial life. Who’s to say she could even trust this man? Why couldn’t she stay with Zeb?

“Hera,  _ please _ . If you want to live, you  _ must _ trust me!”

“Very well, Zeb.” Hera said softly. He was the only one left for her to trust. He was the only guard she ever truly trusted to begin with She found that she could no longer look at the bodies of her family. They were gone and she’d never speak to them again. All that time spent in this prison of a house, useless. She’d been so certain--at least at first--that they would return to their palace, that the rebellion would be squashed, and that her father would remain Tsar for decades to come.

Ana-Hera Syndulla had been wrong. As Grand Duchess she’d never found much experience with being wrong. She had a feeling that Hera Syndulla would become far too familiar with the concept. She just hoped that she never found herself in a situation where she was  _ too _ wrong.

Garazeb loosely rolled her in the cloth he’d talked about and she suppressed a grunt as he slung her over his shoulder. More men entered the basement and Hera knew they were doing the same to her parents, brother, and sisters. Only they weren’t alive to grunt; the only sounds came from the still-drunk guards.

“We bury the boy and the tsar last.” Zeb said gruffly. It sent a pang through Hera’s heart. She felt Zeb begin to make his way up the stairs, followed by the others. She could smell the blasted alcohol on their breaths. A loud thump sent a chill down Hera’s spine. It wasn’t terribly loud, but it wasn’t forceful enough to be her sisters or parents; no, the scum had dropped Alexei. One guard laughed and another--Hera assumed it was the one carrying poor Alexei--grumbled in discontent.

“Poor bastard’s still bleeding everywhere!” One laughed. Hera had to will herself from flinging herself off of Zeb’s shoulder and attacking the man.

“He was always ill. Why else would the mother have been sneaking off with that sorcerer all that time?”

Hera had  _ never. _ Yes, her mother had been close to the  _ healer _ , but she would  _ never  _ do that to her father! She was empress! Hera had never been a fan of the man called Grigori Rasputin--she thought he was preying on her mother’s worries, but he was there to help Alexei!

“My cousin was part of the group that killed him. Man was a bastard through and through. Cyanide didn’t even kill him!”

“Cut the chatter.” Zeb grunted. Hera was thankful he was there, and not only because he was saving her life. Zeb had never liked Grigori, but he also never put up with anyone soiling the name of Hera’s dear mother, Alix.

“Yes, Captain.” The other guards murmured. And then they were outside--it was the first time Hera had breathed fresh air in five months. She relished in it, though the deeper she breathed in, all she could smell was the blood. Despite all that had happened, Hera felt  _ free _ , and almost as if she had a chance at survival. She was tossed into the bed of the truck last--Zeb had cut a slit on the cloth over her eyes so that she could see where they were. He nodded one last time before he went around to drive the truck. It gave an awful sputter before it lurched forward.

It didn’t take long to reach the tree Zeb had told her about--Hera  _ assumed _ it was the tree, anyway; there were a fair number of apple trees in the area. Hera took a deep breath and rolled out of the bed of the truck, but she didn’t immediately unravel the cloth--she had to roll the opposite way as the truck headed off into a forest area.

Hera was suddenly  _ very _ aware of her appearance. It was far easier to see in the lamplight. She spotted the tavern, but there were houses on both sides and Zeb never specified which one! A couple of guards approached her with their hands resting on their pistols.

“Are you all right, miss?” One asked. He seemed nice enough, but the other  _ knew _ who she was; Hera could feel it.

“Yes.” She answered curtly. The first guard took his hand off his weapon, but the second didn’t. Hera figured it would have been her luck to escape her own assassination only to expose her identity to two lowly Reds.

“Why are you covered in blood?” The second asked. Hera took a few steps back. She’d forgotten about the blood and even if she hadn’t, there was no excuse the guards would believe. Could she say she fell? Surely that wouldn’t explain the volume of the blood, but…

“He asked you a question.” The first guard frowned. Hera took another step back, but ran into a tall body.

“Hera! There you are! I’ve been looking all over for you!” A man said. Hera’s eyes widened and she turned to see a man who couldn’t have been much older than she was with a  _ ponytail _ . His beard was as bad as Zeb had said. She was safe. She hoped she was, anyway. He leaned close into her ear. “Play along if you want to get out of here with some lead in your skull.” He murmured so that only she could hear.

“Sorry, guys. She’s a big tree climber and she tends to go for the ones with the red sap. Been like that since we were kids. Thanks for keeping an eye on her.” The man flashed a brilliantly charming smile and placed a hand on Hera’s shoulder. She resisted the urge to jerk away from him, but he was all that stood between her and a bullet. Maybe not literally, but close enough for her to not bother finding the energy to care. He had a ponytail and a god awful beard, so she was pretty sure this was the Kanan Zeb had talked about. Then again, that could describe half of Russia in 1918.

“Is she your sister?” The second guard asked, moving his hand away from his gun. Kanan placed a hand on Hera’s shoulder and pulled her closer to his chest.

“Not quite.” Kanan winked. It took everything within Hera to not roll her eyes. He was infuriating, but Zeb said to trust him...

_ Great. _

“Sorry to bother you,” The first guard said with a nod, “But it is rather late, and you should hurry home. It’s...been a busy night.”

Hera rushed forward, ready to strike the man down. Busy night?  _ Busy night _ ? These Bolshevik bastards had just gunned down her entire family and they’re calling it a “busy night”? Kanan yanked Hera back into him before either guard could say anything. He dug into her shoulder, too. Hard.

“Understood. Stay safe, you two!” Kanan called as the guards retreated. He softened his grip on Hera’s shoulder so that he could pull her into his home.

“I would advise against going maverick on the guards if you want to stay alive,  _ Hera _ .” Kanan said as he locked the door.

“I am the  _ empress. _ ” Hera spat. Kanan chuckled and shook his head.

“No, the empress is dead. As is every other Romanov in Russia. And if you want to be the last living royal, I suggest you do as I say.”

“How can I know to trust you? Your people murdered my family!” Hera screeched. Kanan’s eyebrows went up to his hairline and he twisted his pinkie around in his ear.

“And I just saved you, so unless you’d rather deal with the soldiers...” Kanan shrugged as his voice trailed off.

“Very well,  _ comrade _ . What do you want from me?” Hera grumbled. Kanan smiled and ran his fingers through his hair.

“For you to  _ live _ . That’s all. I owe Zeb a favor, but I think that after this, he’s going to be the one owing me.” 

“Where do you plan on hiding me, then?” Hera peered at the loaf of bread on the counter. She was starving, though she’d never make that obvious to Kanan. Maybe she could sneak some after he went to sleep.

“My  _ home _ . We ‘peasants’ aren’t the cavemen you royals like to think of us as.” Kanan glowered as he poured Hera some tea. 

“A Romanov freed you from serfdom and you would do well to remember that.” Hera retorted, crossing her arms over her chest. She realized she still had her family jewels in her corset. Kanan shot her an amused look as he cut up a few pieces of bread and some cheese and placed it on a plate.

“And if you truly believe that was anything more than some empty promise of a decree to save your great-grandfather’s face, you’re the blind one, Hera. We were worse off after that. But of course you spoiled royals wouldn’t have cared enough to look into that. Landlords benefitted, not peasants. By the way, you’re one of us now. Or you would have been, if not for Lenin.” 

“ _ Stop _ calling me that! My name is Anastasia!” Hera stomped--the girl actually  _ stomped _ and Kanan realized he was in for a hell of a rude awakening. Sure, he owed Zeb, but did he care enough to deal with a spoiled duchess? Kanan wasn’t so sure about that. He almost wanted to keep egging her on just to hear her continue to talk--selfish royal or not, the girl had a musical voice. 

“I’d rather call you Hera than call the guard! Anastasia is  _ dead. _ And you’d do well to remember that. We have to change your appearance. You’re far too recognizable.” Kanan said, placing the teacup and plate in front of the indignant grand duchess. “We have a lot to change about you, actually. The way you talk is a dead giveaway, and I can see the fucking diamonds shining through your corset. You get taken to your assassination and you still bring your jewels? Must you be a walking stereotype?” Kanan laughed and ripped off a bite of bread.

“You think I’d allow that, you...comrade.” Hera growled. Kanan tried not thinking about how she ignored the last part of his comment. He’d always thought the royals selfish, even as a young child under tsarist rule, but he’d never thought it was  _ that _ bad.

“Depends.” Kanan shrugged and bit back a smile. “How soon do you want to join your family?” 

“You are a harsh man.” 

“Because I’m trying to _help_ _you_! You talk about your family like that in public, you go see them again. And I promised Zeb I’d keep you alive, so if this is the sort of thing that shuts you up about your precious status, then it’s worth it.”

“And why are you helping me?”

“Zeb told me to keep you safe. He’s my friend, so I’m doing as he asked. I’ve told you that.”

“Nowhere is safe for me!” Tears started to run down Hera’s cheeks and Kanan felt an unpleasant twang in his chest. Perhaps being firm wasn’t the best route for Kanan to take so soon after her family’s deaths. But Zeb had been firm with  _ him _ after his parents died, and he turned out fine. Interpersonal relationships had never been Kanan’s strong suit, though; something that was becoming strikingly clear.

“Okay, I get that you’ve been through a lot tonight and the last few months, but you need to drop that until we can fix you up. We can’t have anyone recognizing you. The bathroom is down that hall on the left. Get yourself cleaned up, then take the bedroom across the hall. I’ll sleep out here. I’ll get up early and make a big breakfast before I have to go to work. Then after that, we travel to Petrograd.”

“Why Petrograd?” Hera asked, taking a cautious bite of bread. Kanan chuckled.

“They’d be burying you about right now. We keep you in Yekaterinburg, they’ll find you. We’ll worry about disguises in the morning. For now you just need to be cleaned up and you need some sleep.” Kanan smiled warmly and pulled a pillow and blanket out of a closet.

“Do you have any cakes?” Hera asked softly. Kanan smiled and downed a glass of water.

“I don’t, but I can get you some tomorrow. Go wash up. Use all the hot water you need. We’ll work more tomorrow. I’ll go start a fire in your room while you’re busy. If you need more blankets, check the closet.”

“Thank you, Kanan.” Hera said softly. Kanan barely heard her, but smiled again. He didn’t bother responding; he figured saying it was hard enough. He wasn’t going to embarrass her with it. 

Hera fell asleep quickly after bathing that night. She wasn’t sure why, but she felt safe for the first time since her father was safely on the throne.


	2. July 17, 1918

Kanan watched curiously as Hera gobbled down her breakfast. He hadn’t expected a princess to eat with such fervor. Although, he figured, hunger could make animals of anyone, regardless of where they were born or who they were. Hera had woken up before he had, and he couldn’t help but wonder if she’d slept at all. He wasn’t sure he’d blame her if she hadn’t. Bourgeoisie or not, she was still a person and being in the room when her family was killed couldn’t have been easy.

“Why are you helping Zeb? You keep saying you owe him.” Hera asked before taking another bite of bread. Kanan almost choked on his egg. Hera watched him curiously so he quickly gulped it down and put the rest of it on his plate.

“He, uh,” Kanan poked the egg so that it rolled around his plate, “My parents died when I was a kid. I lived in a small town outside of Petrograd. They were working to buy my freedom from the kulak they worked for and they both got sick but the guy made them keep working and it killed them. So there I am with nowhere to go. I resorted to begging on the streets, but that wasn’t enough. Everyone was starving then and the people that could help didn’t. Zeb found me and took care of me. He always told me not to worry about it, but I owe him.”

“That’s the only reason?”

“I didn’t like the royals just as much as everyone else, but I also didn’t want to see you die. You’re not your father. I know why the order was given and it makes sense, but even though you’re a little rough, you don’t deserve to die for it.”

“Thanks. I think.” Hera furrowed her brow and rolled her piece of sausage up and down her plate. Kanan chuckled and took another bite of his egg. “How old were you?”

“Six.”

“And how old are you now?”

“Twenty.”

“One more question.” Hera set her fork on her plate. “For now.”

“Go for it.” Kanan replied through a mouthful of egg.

“How are we getting to Petrograd?” 

“My friend Sasha has a truck. He’s a...close friend of Zeb’s, so we can trust him. He’s taking us then he’s going to Moscow to meet up with Lenin’s boys.”

“Why don’t we take a train?”

“We’ll take trains all the time after everyone thinks you’re dead.” Kanan chuckled and rolled the remainder of his egg around his plate aimlessly.

“You aren’t just dumping me off in Petrograd? And why aren’t you taking me out of Russia?”

“Hera, you haven’t lived on your own once in your entire life. Much less a provincial life. Things are better under Lenin than your family, but they’ll still be hard for you. I’m here to help you adapt to life without your status, then you’re free to do whatever you want. I’m just trying to make sure you stay alive. Taking you outside of Russia is part of that. Everyone’s going to be looking for survivors all over Europe, especially in Germany.”

“But my family is responsible for...for what happened to your parents.”

“Maybe, but you aren’t. I’m helping you, Hera.”

“It isn’t as if I have much of a choice, do I?”

“That’s the spirit!” Kanan grinned. “I have to get to work. You have your cakes and you’re safe in here and welcome to anything in the house. I’ll be back tonight. I’ll bring you a bunch of new clothes and anything else you may need. Just be ready to leave early this evening, okay?”

“Okay, Kanan.”

“Oh, and Hera?”

She still detested the name, but while lying awake the night before accepted she’d have to get used to it. “Yes?”

“Cut your hair. Dye it, too. That’s the major change you’ll have to make.”

Hera covered her hair with her hands. “You’re joking.” 

“Wish I was.”

“Do you have any books?”

“Some Tolstoy and Dostoyevsky, mostly. You’re free to read them, if you’d like. You might want to start with the Manifesto, though. You’re going to have to blend in with the Reds. And you can pack them along for the journey. I can get you more books that are more to your liking along the way.” Kanan shrugged. 

“What brought you to Siberia in the first place?”

Kanan smirked. “Million ruble question right there, but don’t let the natives hear you call this Siberia. I’ll see you in a few hours.  _ Stay inside _ . Everything you need is in here.”

Hera had a lot to think about while Kanan was working. She still didn’t understand why he was helping her. The more he stressed it was Zeb, the more she questioned him. She trusted him because Zeb did, but she wasn’t sure if she would have without his blessing. It wasn’t that she thought Kanan was a bad person; she just wasn’t sure why a Red would help her without seeming to get something in return. Maybe he wanted her jewels? But surely if that’s all he wanted, he would have taken them during the night if he thought she was asleep. 

Sleep. 

Hera realized she hadn’t slept in far too long, but she wanted to get something done before Kanan returned, so she went into the bathroom to find a pair of scissors and a bottle of hair dye sitting on the sink. Hera loved her hair; she’d found she truly appreciated it after shaving it during her family’s bout with scarlet fever. But at least this time she’d be able to keep some of it. She took the scissors in one hand and took out one large chunk of her hair. The sight made her sad, but she knew Kanan was right. 

Cutting her hair ended up being easier than Hera had anticipated. It was the dye that was difficult. She’d always shared her father’s light hair color and making it darker was harder than Hera ever thought it would be. She felt that by covering its true color, she was severing her ties to him. They’d gotten especially close while under house arrest and even before that they’d spent a lot of time together playing outside. She knew her brother was his favorite, but she was close. 

Hera thought she’d miss her brother the most. He was just 14 when he died. He was close to her in age, so they’d always been close. She missed Maria well enough, but Alexei was easier to get along with for whatever reason.

Her hair didn’t look right as dark brown. She almost wished she could have died it green, but that would have been ridiculous and she didn’t need anything to make her stand out even more. She stood and watched herself in the mirror for a while. She didn’t look like Anastasia anymore, and she recognized that was a good thing. The last thing she needed was to be recognized by some low-level Red Army soldier looking for a promotion. She had been cut off from the common people growing up but she wasn’t daft; she knew what they thought of her family. Hell, Kanan blatantly talked negatively about them while she was in the room and he was  _ saving _ her. She tried not to think about the things he’d have to say when he thought she wasn’t listening.

Waiting for Kanan to return took longer than she would have liked. She liked Dostoyevsky’s works well enough--she  _ hated _ Tolstoy, though, and she always had--but that didn’t make it easier for her to actually sit and read. She’d had troubles with sitting and focusing on tasks ever since she was a young child.

The front door swung open and Hera closed her book with a snap. Logically, she knew it was Kanan, but that didn’t stop her heart from racing. He walked in with his face covered by a stack of dresses and supplies. 

“Hey,” His voice was a dead giveaway, though. Hera sighed in relief and set the book aside on top of the pile of things she’d chosen to take with her. “It’s me. I mean I’m assuming my voice gave that away. I would have knocked, but I think knocking on my own front door would have alerted someone.” He laughed as he tossed the clothes and supplies on the table. “I had to guess on sizes and styles, but--”

“They’re perfect. Thank you.” Hera said softly. The phrase still felt foreign on her tongue, but she didn’t know what else to say to him for doing all of this for her. She wasn’t sure how much he’d already spent on her and truth be told, she’d rather not think about it. She’d be sure to offer him some jewels at some point, but she felt he’d never accept them.

“You better go change. Sasha will be here soon.” Kanan said, swiping a cake off a plate. 

“How do you know this Sasha?” Hera called from the bedroom.

“He’s a close friend of Zeb’s. They’ve known each other for a while. They met after Zeb got me off the streets.” Kanan spewed through a mouthful of cake. He brushed the stray crumbs off the couch and stuffed the rest in his mouth. “To tell you the truth, I’d wager they’re more than just friends, but they’ve never said anything either way to me. His full name is Alexsandr Kallus. He was one of the first Bolsheviks, his dad worked with Lenin’s brother. Sasha originally worked for your dad, though. Big time spy for the reds.”

Hera frowned. She wasn’t surprised by the concept of spies within her ranks, but the man still betrayed the empire. She adjusted her dress one last time before returning to Kanan. And when she did his eyebrows shot up again, though this time she got the feeling it was a good thing.

“You did a good job with your hair, by the way. I tried cutting mine once and it didn’t really end well.” Kanan chuckled and peered out the window. “He’s here. You ready?”

“I suppose.” Hera said, starting to gather the dresses. They were far nicer than any of the ones she’d had growing up. She was in no way surprised that Kanan thought her privileged; any other princess would have been, but her great-grandmother had worked that trait out of Alix very quickly. She stopped when Kanan laughed.

“No, Hera. I got you a trunk. I’m an ass, but I’m not an ass _ hole _ . I’m carrying it. Aren’t you used to servants?” Kanan folded the dresses and carefully placed them in the green trunk with “H. Syndulla” painted on one end. It was a messy job; Hera was sure he’d done it himself.

“I am, but that goes back to my mother not spoiling us, despite what I’m sure you believe. At least, she didn’t spoil my sisters and I. Alexei was another story, being the true heir and all. You are a bit of an ass, though.”

Kanan grinned up at Hera as he swung the lid shut. “Glad you think so, Princess.”

“Won’t that be a giveaway for who I am?”

“Sure, if Anastasia wasn’t dead. You look nothing like her now. And I’d never be stupid enough to call you that in public.” Kanan explained. Hera shot him a look and he laughed. “There’s the princess face.” He lifted the trunk onto his shoulder--his very high up and broad shoulder. Hera quickly shifted her gaze to her feet.

“Princess face?”

“You get this funny look when I say something you think is stupid. All stern--or like you’re trying to be--and I’m some peasant that spoke out of line in your court.”

“Bold of you to assume you’d be allowed in my court.” Hera replied coolly. Kanan laughed again and opened the door for her.

“Fair enough.” Kanan chuckled and closed the door, then handed the key to a short, tubby man with a mustache that reminded Hera of her father’s. The man counted out a fair number of rubles and handed them to Kanan. He took them and gave a mock salute before sliding Hera’s trunk into the bed of Sasha’s truck.

“You go in first.” Hera said softly. Kanan frowned, but didn’t question it.

“Hey, Sasha. This is Hera. She’s a bit of a spitfire, so expect some comment on your facial hair.” Kanan grinned. Hera swatted his arm as she climbed into the truck. “And if it doesn’t come from her, it’ll come from me.” Sasha rolled his eyes and put his truck into gear then drove off.

“It’s good to meet you, Duchess. Zeb talked about you a lot after he defected. I think you were always his favorite. He warned me about the attitude.”

Kanan burst into laughter and Hera narrowed her eyes.

“Duchesses do not have attitudes.” She said slowly. Kanan only laughed harder, and that time, Sasha joined in.

“Alexsandr Kallus, but please, call me Sasha.”

“She’ll probably end up calling you mutton chops like I do.” Kanan said,  _ still _ laughing. Hera considered pinching him for all of his precious laughter, but then Sasha joined in. How dare they laugh at the final heir to the Russian throne!

“It’s going to be a long drive, Prin--Hera. I suggest you get some rest. Kanan and I will trade shifts driving. You are safe now, Hera. And you need your rest.” Sasha said quietly. Hera didn’t want to sleep. She trusted Kanan and Alex well enough, but she’d always had trouble sleeping with the world rushing by around her. But her eyes felt heavy when she remembered she’d slept perhaps an hour the night before. Kanan’s laughter filled the truck as she drifted off into some much-needed deep sleep. 


	3. July 18, 1918

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kanan and Hera make their way to Petrograd and Hera realizes the people she didn't care for aren't so bad after all.

When Hera woke up, the truck wasn’t moving and she was alone. For a moment, she froze, fearing she was truly alone again, but she heard Sasha laughing outside. Kanan stood a few feet away from him, rubbing the back of his neck with a large, embarrassed grin on his face. She watched him carefully. Her sworn enemy turned protector. He looked older than twenty, though given what he’d told her about his early life, Hera wasn’t surprised by that. He had kind eyes--her mother had always told her to watch for men with nice eyes, but Hera seriously questioned how that woman could say that then invite Grigori Rasputin of all people into the palace.

Sasha was a bit harder to read. Hera wanted to trust him, and since Kanan and Zeb did, she followed suit, to a degree. But she trusted Kanan more. She wanted to walk around a bit; she had a bad back that didn’t appreciate sitting upright for an undetermined amount of time. It was dark then, so at least a couple of hours had passed. She stretched cautiously. For a while, she feared she’d inherited her mother’s sciatica, but Grigori and her nurse determined it was a muscular issue rather than a nervous one. Hera hoped they were right. 

Hera opened the door to the truck and both men turned quickly. Kanan broke into a toothy grin when he registered that it was Hera and Sasha watched him suspiciously.

“The princess is awake!” Kanan spread his arms wide. “About time.”

“Shove off, Kanan.” Hera mumbled, stretching her back. Sasha laughed and Kanan pouted.

“He needs someone who can knock him on his ass.” Sasha said, rubbing one side of his face. He said it like he wanted to do it, but he also didn’t seem the type.

“Nobody can knock Kanan Jarrus on his ass. You’d do well to remember that, Comrade Kallus.”

Hera quirked a perfectly manicured brow. If knocking ponytail on his ass was all it would take to humble him, she could do that. She’d had plenty of practice with her sisters and the royal guard. She stood very still for a moment before striking Kanan’s nose with the heel of her hand and while he was stunned, she aimed a kick directly in his middle. He fell to the ground with a loud thud and Hera stood over him with a more than triumphant look on her face. Sasha doubled over in laughter and Kanan stared up at Hera in shock.

“Looks like  _ I _ can knock Kanan Jarrus on his ass.” Hera grinned. Sasha laughed even harder and Kanan rubbed his nose indignantly.

“You could have broken my nose!” Kanan squeaked. Hera’s grin turned into a smirk and she held her hand out. Kanan stared at it for a solid thirty seconds before Sasha stepped in.

“Kanan, if you’re going to take her hand, you should do it now. We have to go.” He laughed, slipping into the passenger seat. Hera slid back into her own through Kanan’s side and left him to push himself out of the dirt, not that he would have taken her hand in the first place. 

“Sasha, you never told me how you know Zeb.” Hera said as Kanan turned the key. The truck sprung to life and he pulled away from the side of the road.

“I’ve known Zeb for years now. Practically fell in love with him the day I met him.” Sasha said distantly. Hera shot Kanan a stunned look, but he only smirked and nodded. “He talked about you a lot when he first came to the Bolsheviks,” Sasha said, glancing in Hera’s direction. “Almost got himself killed a few times defending you to his superiors, especially when he worked at the House of Special Purpose.” 

_ When a “special purpose” is murdering people, what did he expect? _ Hera thought.

“He told you he wanted to rescue me and you just...went along with it? But you could have been killed! You could still be killed, both of you!” Hera squeaked. She didn’t understand why anyone who allied themselves with Vladimir Lenin would go to all the trouble of saving any Romanov when the other Bolsheviks so clearly wanted them all dead. She didn’t believe that anyone would truly disobey the orders of their leaders. At least, she did until she remembered that the people had overthrown her father, a man appointed by God himself to rule the vast land of Russia.

Sasha shrugged and smiled. “If Zeb believes in something, so do I. He’s got a good judge of character. He thinks a Romanov isn’t bad, well, I trust him. He was right about this little vole,” He jabbed a thumb toward Kanan, “So I have no reason to doubt him with you.”

“And I’d rather see to it that you’re alive, Hera.” Kanan added. “I misjudged you, I think, and I apologize for that. It wasn’t fair of me to judge you based on who you were born to.”

Hera couldn’t help but think about how  _ she _ had been the one to misjudge him. She suddenly felt suffocated in the tiny truck--and her back was bothering her again, too. “Can we stop for a few minutes? I have a bad muscle in my back and it causes me a great deal of pain if I stay in place for too long.”

Kanan glanced at Sasha. He sighed and nodded. “For now, yes. But this is a thirty hour journey and we can’t afford to stop terribly often. We will this time, and maybe a couple more after this, but we can’t keep stopping for you to stretch. I know you have a bad back, Zeb told me about that, but use Kanan as a pillow if need be because we  _ are _ on a tight schedule.”

“Tight schedule or do you just want to get back to Moscow to see Zeb?” Hera smirked. Kanan barked in laughter before Sasha shot him a dirty look.

“Well, you’re sharper than Zeb gave you credit for. Kanan. Pillow. You. Sleep. We have to get you to Petrograd. There’s already a home set up for the two of you there. You only have to stay with Kanan until you get the hang of life on your own. Then he’ll go back to Yekaterinburg. You’ll be safe and you’ll have your own life, Hera.”

The thought distressed her. Kanan couldn’t really be uprooting his entire life just for a few months to save someone he probably really would rather see dead. That was a much easier idea to grapple with than further thinking about why she was upset by the concept of Kanan being thirty hours away. Her back twitched again, but she wasn’t exactly warm to the idea of falling asleep on Kanan, and even if she was, which she  _ wasn’t _ , her pride was far too strong to allow her to do so. She let her head fall back onto the headrest and let her eyes close. As soon as she fell into a deep sleep, Kanan swerved to avoid a musk deer and the movement caused Hera’s head to slide gradually onto his shoulder. 

As carefully as he could, Kanan snaked his right arm around Hera’s shoulders—after his initial frozen reaction—and leaned against the driver’s door in such a way that would be more comfortable for the princess. Sasha watched Kanan curiously before he laughed quietly. “Didn’t think I’d ever see  _ you _ get flustered by a woman.”

“I am  _ not _ flustered, Sasha.”

“And I’m not in love with a giant. Oh, wait. I am.”

Hera awoke not long after; the road got too bumpy for her taste less than an hour after she’d fallen asleep. She shot away from Kanan like a molotov cocktail and he raised his hands in surrender. The sly smile dancing on his lips should have made Hera uncomfortable under any other circumstances, but for whatever reason, it didn’t. 

Sasha was a far nicer man than Hera expected. His mutton chops reminded her of her father, in a way. Then again, any man with light-colored facial hair did. Sasha was a softer man than she’d anticipated too, and he reminded her a lot of Zeb, and the skirting admission that he loved Zeb had  _ really _ taken her off guard. Her father would have never put up with it--the same way he never put up with Hera’s “little friends” over the years, but she’d heard Lenin was far more lax on the matter. Both Zeb and Sasha were incredibly kind men, so she hoped they’d have a long life together. 

They make one stop under Kanan’s suggestion and he pulls Hera out of the truck and keeps his hand on her back and leads her toward a cake stand. “Pick a few for the rest of the journey.”

Hera looks up at Kanan with pure joy and wonder in her eyes. Kanan was her protector, yes, but he had already gone above and beyond to make sure she felt safe, cared for, and comfortable. She still didn’t understand  _ why _ . He was set to gain nothing from helping her. He couldn’t reasonably get away with selling her jewels. Hera simply didn’t understand. 

Any time he smiled at her, which was a lot, all things considered, it was warm and inviting--minus his smirks. But Hera was beginning to like those, too. As a child she’d been called a mischievous devil and she had been--and still was--but Kanan could keep up with that. He seemed to enjoy it where her mother and governesses hadn’t. He’d play along and encourage it, even if it meant having him down in the dirt.

“I cannot pay.” She argued. Kanan chuckled and nudged her toward the stand again.

“Don’t worry about that.”

She wasn’t sure what she could have done in her lifetime to prompt a young worker on rations with less money to his name than Hera could possibly comprehend to be so kind to her. Her father had always said he loved the peasants, but that they didn’t have what it took to stick together and accomplish anything for the greater good--that’s why they even had the tsar. But Kanan had done more kind things than any royal had ever done for Hera, and in such a short amount of time. He seemed  _ happy _ to help her. He’d never once complained the way her mother had said peasants seemed to like to do. Hera determined that her father’s beliefs about the peasants were wrong for a number of reasons. Namely, they  _ were _ able to come together to overthrow the Romanov Dynasty, which had stood for 300 years, and they did it with relative ease. And the peasants were kinder than either her father or mother or older sisters had given them credit for.

She picked three small cakes and shared them with Sasha and Kanan—which earned smiles from both--and before she knew it, they were back in the truck, Kanan with an especially large smile on his face as Sasha resumed driving. Hera found it easier to lean on Kanan after that--but only when her back hurt, of course. It just happened that her back hurt all of the time now that she was going without the medication she’d received before the awful night at the Ipatiev House. 

“You doing okay, Hera?” Kanan whispered. If Sasha heard, he didn’t make a move to announce it.

“Mostly. I’ve just gone without my back medication for a while. I’ll be okay, it isn’t the first time.”

“No,” Kanan frowned, “When we get to Petrograd, we’ll get you to a doctor first thing. Pain is awful, but if it can be stopped, then I’ll do it. Do you have any other health problems?”

“No. Little Alexei had hemophilia and my mother sciatica, but other than that, no.”

Kanan’s brow furrowed and Hera knew what was coming next. “Of course the royal boy would have the bleeding disease,” he would say. It’s what they ALL said when they found out; it’s why the secret was kept in palace walls. 

“I had a friend with hemophilia as a kid. Nasty deal for him. I’m sorry your brother had to deal with it. I’m sure it couldn’t have been easy on you, either.”

It was Hera’s turn to frown. Father said peasants jumped at the misfortune of royals. And while Kanan never expressed a desire for all of her family to be alive, he never really relished in their deaths, either. Peasants were an interesting study, but Hera got the feeling she should stop calling them that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing Hera as Anastasia isn't as difficult as I thought it'd be. From what has been written about the Grand Duchess, her personality was rather close to that of our favorite pilot. If you haven't looked into the story of Anastasia, I highly recommend it.  
> 


	4. July 20, 1918

Hera was asleep when Kanan drove them into Petrograd. And he made as good a pillow as Sasha had said. She’d been an unusually light sleeper since that night in Yekaterinburg, so all it took to rouse her from her sleep was a simple nudge.

“Welcome home, Hera.” He said, low enough so that Sasha wouldn’t be able to hear. Petrograd looked different, but not necessarily in a bad way. The red banners once carried by swarms of Bolsheviks now hung on the buildings. Kanan seemed to be happier in Petrograd than he did in Yekaterinburg and Hera hoped he’d change his mind. He had more opportunities in a port town than he did in Siberia. The winters weren’t quite as harsh, albeit not by much. But having him, say, down the street would be far preferable to him being over a day away. 

She wondered what her sisters would say about him. Maria would probably love him; of all her sisters, she was closest to her. Olga and Tatiana would probably like him because they were the ones quick to fall for soldiers. Her brother, on the other hand, probably would have seen Kanan as below him and honestly, Hera would have, too. Her parents would have been another story entirely; a story she’d rather not think about.

“You two are lucky,” Sasha said as he pulled up to a house far nicer than the one they’d stayed at in Yekaterinburg, “Your jobs are a short distance from your home. Kanan, you’ll be at Obukhov State Plant. Tough, but honest work. Hera, you’ll be working as a seamstress. You’ll have a shorter walk. Learning to work with cloth is easy enough work, but--”

“My sisters and I repaired our own dresses as children. I have the experience needed, Sasha.” She said quickly. He smiled and nodded and a grin played across Kanan’s lips. He looked almost prideful, though Hera couldn’t imagine why. It sent a warm feeling to her stomach, though.

_ Grand Duchess Anastasia  _ _ Nikolaevna _ _ Romanova, _ Hera thought,  _ Has a  _ job. She wished she could see her mother’s reaction to the life she led. Sure, even without Alexei, Hera never had a real chance of succeeding to the throne, but nothing would have prepared her for being a part of the working class. 

“Empress Anastasia is one of the common folk now!” Kanan said once they were all safely inside his and Hera’s new house. She rolled her eyes, but didn’t bother nudging him, despite her overwhelming desire to. She wasn’t so sure it was an innocent desire by then and the last thing she wanted was to give Sasha a reason to separate them; her “urge” could be dealt with when he was on his way back to Moscow. 

“Don’t patronize me, Kanan.” Hera glared, but Kanan’s reaction told her it was anything but intimidating.

“Wouldn’t dream of patronizing my empress.” Kanan said with a deep, sarcastic bow. Hera rolled her eyes and kicked his shin gently.

“Yet you continue to make fun of me as you have since the moment we met.”

“Forgive me, my dearest Hera. I live only to serve my empress.” Kanan’s smile was beyond lethal and told her just enough that she knew he didn’t mean it in the slightest--the teasing tone, anyway. Hera got the feeling that he’d fully meant every word he’d said. The tone of his voice was also different and it gave Hera a strange feeling in her chest. She swallowed it down and pulled back the curtain to peer through a window.

Sasha watched them with a rather bemused expression and Hera wondered if he would even care if anything happened between them. Surely if they were parading as a couple, it couldn’t  _ hurt _ to do couple things. If only to strengthen their story, of course. Hera wouldn’t have dreamed of any ulterior motive. She had always been the most serious of the Romanov children. 

The thought almost entertained Hera to the point of laughter. She’d been even more mischievous and charming, if not undisciplined as a child. Her mother may not have allowed her to be spoiled in a material way, but Hera had always found other methods to get what she wanted.

“I’m going to get a start on Moscow now.” Sasha said, making his way for the door. Kanan grabbed his elbow.

“Alex, it’s late. Stay the night and leave in the morning.”

“I have to report by midday. I got a good nap in during your last shift. I’ll telephone you when I arrive, or if it’s already working hours, I’ll wire you. Stay safe, you two.” Sasha sent a rather scathing glance in Hera’s direction. “Zeb and I will visit within a few months to monitor Hera’s adjustment and make any changes, if necessary. Serve the Russian Socialist Federative Soviet Republic, comrades, and pray that our dear Lenin thinks of a better name!” Sasha smiled and hurried out the door before Kanan could argue any further. He laughed, though.

“Mutton Chops is a good man. The move to Petrograd was my idea, though. I thought you might be more comfortable here.” Kanan smiled. “Do you want to walk around outside a bit? Get reacquainted with home? Oh, we still have to find you a doctor.”

“I don’t like wandering town without my servants.”

“What do you mean? I’m right here.” Kanan laughed but Hera didn’t find it funny. “The working class doesn't have servants,  _ Hera _ . We have things called friends instead.”

“Right. And you’re my friend?”

“I certainly hope so.” Kanan smiled and held out his arm. Hera hesitated, but took it. “There’s a good doctor around here I used to go to as a kid. Old school guy, but he’s good and discreet. Good old Vlad Petrov. He’ll get you all fixed up.”

This Petrov man was as nice as Kanan had said, and he had kind eyes, too. He massaged some of the tension out of Hera’s back and wrote her a standing prescription for  Laudanum, which earned a look of surprise from Kanan. 

“Use it wisely, miss, and try to wait until after you return home from work to take it. It is quite strong, but very effective. If you continue to have problems, simply return to me and we can make some adjustments to your back and medication.” Dr. Petrov told her. The bottle listed opium as its primary ingredient and Hera bit back a chuckle. The most she ever got with her family was aspirin, and that stopped after Alexei had been barred from using it by Grigori.

Kanan reached into his pocket, but Dr. Petrov held his hands up. “No, Kanan. You brought this old man much joy over the years. I don’t mind treating your friend here.”

“Thank you, Dr. Petrov.” Kanan smiled. The old man shook his head.

“Kanan, I have known you for 14 years. I watched you grow up. You call me Vladimir. You’re my friend. As are you, my dear. Your medication should help you with sleep, as well. I would recommend having a flavored drink nearby. It is a terribly bitter solution. Safe travels and good health, both of you.” Vladimir smiled softly and patted Kanan’s shoulder, then Hera’s hand.

“He knew who I was, didn’t he?” Hera asked as soon as Kanan closed his front door.

“Petrov was always a big supporter of your family, but his wife died in the Khodynka incident. After that he sort of backed off until your brother was born. But then the October Revolution came and he switched to the Reds. But to answer your question, yes, I’m sure he knows. Don’t worry, though. Your secret’s safe with him.”

###

August 1, 1918

A week into her job, Hera couldn’t help but think about just how much her life had changed, not only since that night at the Ipatiev House, but in the last week alone. She went from Grand Duchess to nothing more than a simple worker playing a part in the society that was responsible for the deaths of her family, though she tried not thinking about that last part for terribly long. She’d never had to do much “real” work in her lifetime, but the main obstacle she encountered was simply willing herself to sit still. She’d always been a lively person, and fidgeting was how she made it through mundane tasks. Fidgeting while working and meeting her goals was impossible, but she thought she was managing well enough.

She also wanted to prank her coworkers, as she’d been a cunning prankster as a child, but she didn’t want to give herself up because if they found her out, they’d find Kanan. He was keeping her safe and she wanted to return the favor to him. He deserved that much. That and Hera really didn’t want to see him get hurt because he was really starting to grow on her. 

She found her mind drifting to Kanan often during the workday, and it always did wonders for her productivity. The man could have just allowed her to stay at his home that night, but no. Kanan Jarrus went above and beyond and uprooted his entire life to care for her. He frequently went out and bought her favorite cakes to nibble on after work. He’d even bought a recipe from a local bakery so that he could save some money and make them himself. Hera liked his cakes even better than the ones he’d been buying her, even though they tasted exactly the same (except for the time he burned them). Kanan made an effort to find dresses that Hera liked instead of just picking the ones within closest reach. He spent much of his time learning to make Hera’s favorite foods and then adding his own twist to the dishes. Kanan actively tried making life  _ fun _ for Hera and making sure (almost) all her needs were met.

Every day the man with the ponytail--a hairstyle that rapidly grew on Hera--asked her if she was doing okay with things or if she needed to talk about what had happened to her. She usually said no, but the gesture itself was enough to warm Hera’s heart. She was sure that without him, it would have hardened after all she’d been through. When she  _ did _ tell him she felt the need to talk about her life, he listened more attentively than anyone had ever listened to her. He wasn’t just asking and hoping she’d say no; he took her every word seriously and did everything he could to make sure she was truly okay. If Hera didn’t know better, she’d say Kanan actually did care about her--and he would be the first to truly care for her regardless of her status as a royal-- _ former status _ , she reminded herself. 

Her overseer came by as she finished work on a particularly fetching coat and praised her for getting so much good work done in such a short amount of time. Hera was about to go back to work, but her overseer placed a hand on her shoulder.

“Where are you from, Hera?” She asked. Hera froze for a split second, then remembered what Zeb had told her. She wasn’t going to blow her cover the first time she was questioned; maybe all those years of putting on plays in the palace would come in handy.

“A small town in France, not far outside of Paris. I came over for my schooling and then joined the Revolution and decided to stay. I felt that I had a better future here than back home.”

“So Revolution is in your blood, comrade. Very good. Russia is proud to have you, I’ll leave you to your work now.” Hera tried not laughing at that; she’d have to tell Kanan about that exchange that evening. After the initial shock wore off, he’d probably laugh about it. He always excelled at turning things into jokes and she was sure this would be no exception. 

###

Kanan, on the other hand, spent the last week more surprised than anything. Hera had told him about much of her childhood during their time together, and the more he learned, the more surprised he was, but the less confused he became at her skills. She’d really taken the “spoiled princess” trope and knocked it on its ass. She had been privileged, yes, greatly so, but she had more real world skills than he’d anticipated. The transition from the highest class to working class--though it was Lenin’s intention to make Russia truly classless--wasn’t as difficult as he thought it’d be. She was far more resilient than Kanan could ever have dreamed of, though he wasn’t terribly surprised by that. He figured resilience came with the territory of being a member of the longest-ruling royal family in Russian history. Hera took nearly everything that happened to her in stride. She was privileged, yes, but again, she was part of a 300 year dynasty, and for even God’s anointed rulers, they had to have done something right to make it that long.

She told him plenty of stories of her childhood, which sounded far more entertaining than he’d anticipated. She was well-educated, but her self-discipline needed a bit of work. He knew she was smart, but she was similar to how Kanan was growing up on his own; she had trouble applying herself.

She made it home before Kanan--she usually did since her job was just right down the street. She felt a twang of guilt since she worked with clothes--that was far easier than working in a factory, but Kanan seemed to be in good spirits, even when he came home with grease all over his hands and face every evening. He always seemed elated to see her when he walked into their home. Hera wondered how he could always be in such high spirits when he slept on a lumpy couch every night. Not that she hadn’t tried getting him to take the bed with her every night. That argument quickly became a nightly one, but he refused to budge on the matter.

“Hey, Hera! How was work?”

“Good. My overseer asked where I was from,” She paused to gauge his reaction. He went as pale as the Siberian snows. “So I told her France and she got all excited and told me revolution was in my blood. The irony caught me a bit off guard, I’ll admit.” She laughed. Kanan breathed a noticeable sigh of relief.

“You had me there for a second. How do you like the job?” He asked, pouring himself some tea. At first Hera thought he was asking because he wanted to know if she was going to be trouble, but then she looked at his eyes and they were all happy and sparkly, and she realized Kanan really did care about her; this wasn’t about making  _ his _ life easier. It was about improving hers. Not for the first time, she wondered if she'd have the option of staying with or at least near him when she was all settled. She decided then that she wouldn’t even put up a front of being settled on her own if it meant he wouldn’t stay.

“Changing jobs isn’t easy, but I can arrange that if you need me to.” Kanan said, carefully sipping his drink. The absolute last thing Hera wanted was for Kanan to go to even more trouble on her account, so she shook her head, yanked his hair tie out, and told him to go wash up so he could help her with dinner. He was rather confused by her change in demeanor, but it was pleasant so he didn’t particularly care.

“You’ve done enough for me. I can’t act like a princess, right? I take my luck and deal with it. My job isn’t even that bad; I learned to sew as a child with all of the hand me downs.” Hera told him from the doorway of the bathroom as he washed the grease off his hands and face. 

“You’re starting to think like a comrade!” Kanan sputtered through the stream of water running down his face.That earned a big smile out of Hera--making Kanan happy was something she increasingly found herself trying to do. 

Once he finished, she headed back toward the kitchen, but Kanan waited a moment, letting the water drip off his face. He knew Zeb just wanted to establish a strong life for Hera in Petrograd, but he  _ liked _ the city. It wasn’t as harsh as Yekaterinburg and Petrograd had Hera. 

Hera complicated things for him. He couldn’t deny the way he was starting to feel about her, but he also couldn’t acknowledge his feelings because he was her  _ protector _ . He couldn’t cross that line no matter how much he wanted to.

They ate potatoes and beef that night, courtesy of Hera. Kanan was over the moon because it was a longtime favorite of his and Hera made it fairly similarly to the way Zeb used to. They usually ate in silence, but Hera was on one that night. She set her fork on her plate and rested her chin on one of her hands and watched Kanan carefully.

“Kanan, have you ever been intimate with anyone?”

Kanan choked on his potato. He coughed it up and wiped it away and tried to play it cool, but, well, he’s Kanan.

“Yes. That’s a perk to always living near a tavern. But recently? No. Why?” He replied in just a slightly strained voice. Taking an extra large bite of potato didn’t do much for his throat.

“My older sisters were involved with these soldiers at a hospital we volunteered at, but Mother and Father would never have allowed them to marry so low. That’s one of the things I hated most.” Hera pushed a potato back and forth over her plate.

“Were you ever involved with someone? Soldier or otherwise?” Kanan asked nonchalantly, cutting his potato into quarters before taking another bite. He’d learned his big bite lesson. For that time, anyway.

“I had a bunch of friends that would come play at the palaces we stayed at. Some things happened with some of them.” Hera replied indifferently. Kanan was suddenly  _ very _ focused on his piece of bread. He squished it into a ball before tearing it in half to chew. He wondered if she’d said it like that on purpose.

“So then you don’t like men?” Kanan was more than a little disappointed by the idea, but he figured that would do wonders for keeping him focused on simply protecting Hera and doing his duty.

“I never said that.” Hera replied with an odd twinkle in her eye. Kanan swallowed his bread hard and pretended not to notice.

See, Kanan was in a predicament. He had a duty and Kanan Jarrus always did his duty. But he also had a heart and his heart told him things he absolutely, could not, under any circumstances,  _ ever _ do. He’d always been pretty good at denying himself the simple pleasures in life, but Hera Syndulla was far from simple. Their working relationship tied the whole situation into a thousand knots no expert could untangle. 

Kanan couldn’t and he wouldn’t.

Kanan wanted Hera more than he should have and that made him want to hitch a ride on the next train to Siberia. At least he wouldn’t be able to feel it in the cold. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter I wanted to highlight Kanan's dedication to his duty. Wrestling with feelings is one thing; but for Kanan specifically, I think he'd have some trouble with the "I am her protector" side of things.  
> Also that medication Hera got is no joke; that stuff had an opium base and almost every opium alkaloid in it, including morphine. It was primarily used for period cramps, but something tells me it would knock out a little back pain with no issue.


	5. September 12, 1918

Over the last couple of months, Kanan and Hera found themselves in a comfortable routine. Hera liked it far better than the one she had as a princess, but she did miss the food the chefs would make. Kanan kept a steady supply of cakes made for Hera. He’d even begun experimenting with candies and other sweets. He bought a new bed so that he didn’t have to sleep on the couch. He kept it in the bedroom with Hera because over the last few weeks she’d been having a lot of nightmares from that night and he wanted to be there to calm her down. He figured it was about time for him to calm someone else’s bad dreams; Zeb spent countless hours comforting Kanan in the first few months following his de facto adoption of the boy.

Hera had always enjoyed making people laugh. Family, guards, courtesans, it didn’t matter. Spending a few months with Kanan in close quarters made him Hera’s primary target. She typically made herself laugh more than he did, but Kanan didn’t care; Hera’s laugh was magical.  _ That’s _ what ended up truly making him join in.

Kallus and Zeb return to Petrograd in chapter 5. Kanan lets them stay at the new house he got because of his new job. Kanan and Hera are parading as a couple to keep her cover, but Hera gets the bed and  Kanan takes the couch (for now). 

“Sasha and Zeb are here, Kanan!” Hera called, peeking through the curtain. Kanan finished putting the teacups he was messing with on a tray with some fresh treats and placed it on the table while Hera opened the door and greeted the men. 

“Smells like I taught you well,” Zeb said, stepping inside the house. Sasha’s eyes immediately fell on the tray, but he didn’t rush for it. “Hera, how are you doing?”

“I’ve been adapting well, I think. Kanan’s seen to that.” Hera smiled. Kanan shrugged and stepped aside so that Zeb and Sasha could sit down. When they did, they were practically on top of each other and it made Kanan smile. He’d known Sasha for years, but he’d never seen either man so happy. 

“Kanan’s a good teacher sometimes. Just don’t get into one of his stick fights with him. He omits some things to keep the upper hand.” Sasha laughed. Hera frowned, glanced at Kanan, then back at Sasha.

“Stick fights?”

“Are we really going to jump straight into the embarrassing stories? Because we could definitely talk about--” Kanan began. Hera raised a hand to cut him off.

“No, no, I want to hear these stories. Please continue.” Hera said to both Zeb and Sasha. The men glanced at each other and broke out into big smiles. Kanan audibly groaned. 

“Well, when I found the kid, he didn’t like my name, so he called me ‘Cat Man’. Any time I put him on my shoulders he’d pull on my ears. Then when he got older, he started calling them elf ears. He’s always been terrible at nicknames, which is why he calls Sasha ‘Mutton Chops’. Oh, the kid was a little jerk at first, and the only way to calm him down was to give him apples. Little guy loved the damn things. Almost got himself arrested for stealing a couple meant for a guard’s horse.” Zeb laughed.

“And I was the guard!” Sasha piped in. “Actually very glad he did that, because that’s how Zeb and I met. I was about to put irons on the kid, but then Zeb ran up and said he’d buy me dinner if I let him go. It worked, clearly.”

“So he had an ally in the guard and in the palace.” Hera thought aloud. Zeb nodded.

“It came in handy for him, that’s for sure. Kanan used to be quite the criminal.” Zeb shrugged. Hera studied Kanan carefully. He looked embarrassed, for sure, but there was more to his reaction that Hera couldn’t put a finger on. He gave her a sheepish smile.

“How long ago did you two meet?” Hera asked, taking a bite of some sweet bread. Zeb and Sasha thought for a moment.

“That was a couple years after I picked him up, and I’m pretty sure he was eight or so, which rounds it out to about twelve years, I suppose.” Zeb scratched his chin and Sasha nodded.

“And you’ve been together for that long?” The question was out of Hera’s mouth before she could stop herself. Sasha laughed and Zeb nodded, so it couldn’t have been terribly out of line, but she still felt awkward.

“Sort of. Nothing really happened for a while because of the law, but eventually, after about a year, we sort of gave up on the law.” Sasha replied. He didn’t seem at all taken aback. “Oh, Kanan plugged his nose every time he swam until he was 17.”

“No, he still does it. He’s just sneakier about it now.” Zeb corrected. Kanan let his head fall back against the wall. “Kanan’s always been very smart, but he’s never been the greatest at applying himself. Gets distracted very easily.” Zeb glanced briefly at Hera. 

“What about these stick fights you mentioned?”

“Any time we walked around some trees, Kanan would pick a ‘good’ stick and challenge people with it. I had to inspect his room regularly because he’d hoard the good sticks and then fight them to see which one was the best. I bet he still has one or two if you check under his bed.”

“Okay, that’s plenty of stories for now!” Kanan stood abruptly and brought his hands together. As he did, Hera watched him, and Zeb watched Hera. He watched her curiously throughout the stories because she was more enthralled in that than he had  _ ever _ seen her when her governesses and tutors talked to her growing up. Then he looked at Kanan, who had clearly never been so embarrassed in his little life, but he kept peeking at Hera’s reactions to every revelation. It reminded him of how he and Sasha had started off. Zeb certainly didn’t intend for them to become a thing, but if he thought about it, he’d say it was a good idea. They balanced each other out because they were extremely similar, even if they didn’t quite realize it. Sarcastic spitfires that didn’t put up with anyone’s shit. Hera’s sister Maria would have loved Kanan, too, but Zeb could see Hera knocking her ass in the dirt over him. Or at the very least, he was sure Hera would hide a tack or seven on Maria’s chair and bed.

At dinner, Kanan actively took the reins of the conversation to prevent any more humiliation. Hera took the opportunity to put a potato under Zeb while he stood to get more stew and when he returned, Hera tied his shoe to Sasha’s. Kanan reveled in how much of a prankster she was now that he wasn’t on the receiving end. He figured palace life was rather strict, and it was, but that didn’t stop Hera. It was something he really liked about her. She pranked him countless times over the last two months. She seemed to alternate between being an all out asshole and being really sweet to him. She wasn’t as good a cook as he was, but she at least tried. She even baked him an apple pie when she didn’t have work but he did. She had it on the table for him with a nice big slice cut out and waiting for him. 

It was a nice surprise for Kanan. He’d never expected anything of the sort and Hera was just so  _ proud _ of herself that her own pride radiated off of her and onto him. He could feel her joy as he tried the pie and he loved it. It was then that he realized she didn’t ask for stories from Zeb and Sasha so that she could make fun of him; she wanted to know him better through someone else’s eyes.

That night, Kanan started to settle into his bed, but Hera argued with him the whole time. At first he thought it was funny, but then Kanan realized how serious she was.

“I don’t know why you don’t just sleep with me.” She pouted. Kanan raised his eyebrows and put his pillow back on his bed. “You’re bad at parading like a couple.”

“Excuse me for giving you your own space, Empress.”

“It’s not about that. Don’t insult me by acting like it’s something else.” Hera dragged her toe along the ground.

“It is, actually. Yes we are parading as a couple, but we aren’t being watched. I wanted to offer you some privacy. You’ve never had control over anything in your life, especially as of late. I wanted to give you as much agency as I could.” Kanan sighed. “If you want me to sleep next to you that badly, I will. I can see how it would help with your dreams.” A grin split Hera’s face and she scooted to her left, pulling her pillows with her. Kanan smiled and shook his head, but tossed his pillows in the newly vacant spot and pushed his bed across the room. 

He watched Hera for a moment before sitting on her bed, but even then, he sat on the very edge. Hera rolled her eyes and yanked him closer to the middle. Hera watched as he got fully ready for bed--something she’d done a lot over the last couple of months--and took special note of the muscles in his arms and shoulders. She realized for the thousandth time just how  _ good _ he looked with his hair down and she wished for the millionth time he’d wear it like that more often, but decided she’d be willing to hide all of his hair ties until he got the idea. The silence in the room was heavy and Kanan wished with all his might to think of something, but Hera beat him to the mark.

“I used to climb up trees to avoid my lessons as a girl.” She smiled. She’d heard all sorts of stories of his childhood and thought it only fair that she tell a few about herself.

“So you’ve always been this difficult?” Kanan replied with a smirk. Hera cursed herself for underestimating his ability to be a smartass. 

“I’m the daughter of the tsar. Of course I’ve always been difficult. It’s in my blood.” Hera replied matter-of-factly. Kanan resorted to laughter to avoid responding; he agreed with her of course, but he knew better than to egg her on about being a spoiled princess anymore. He saved those moments for comments that were truly worth it. As he laughed, Hera slid her hand over Kanan’s knee. That managed to shut him up better than any well-timed snarky comment Hera had ever made. It was entertaining to her, so she pushed it.

“This isn’t right,” Kanan said, “I’m here to protect you. I can’t.”

“You’re an honorable man, Kanan. I am not.” She kissed him and he started to kiss back but then he pulled away, eyes wide.

“Zeb  _ trusted _ me to protect you.”

“You can still protect me. And I can protect myself. You think Zeb didn’t teach me how? You remember when I knocked you on your ass?”

“Hera…” Kanan slid his eyes closed and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“I’ve seen the way you look at me, Kanan.” Hera said softly, barely above a whisper. “I can think for myself. I don’t need you to do it for me. Tell me you don’t want me and I’ll leave you alone.”

Kanan fell silent. He needed to tell her he didn’t want her, but that would mean lying to Hera and that was something he just wasn’t willing to do. Hera smiled and leaned in closer to Kanan’s ear. “Kanan.”

“Not tonight. Just give me a little time, Hera. I want this, I do...but I have to make sure I go at this at the right angle.”

“Is it okay if you hold me?” At that point for Hera, it was not a sexual thing; she simply ached to be touched. Being raised by her mother, especially after her little brother was born, left her touch starved. Hera was always big on physical comfort, so this single interaction with Kanan had great potential to help her emotionally. She wasn’t just trying to get what she wanted from him. She respected him enough to go along with his wishes. That was something that changed a lot for her over the last few months. Kanan smiled and pulled her close to his chest and the simple action prompted Hera to weep because the last time she was held was before the executions. Kanan, however, took it as a bad sign and he jerked away from her. 

“No, I’m happy, Kanan.” Hera laughed. “You don’t understand how long it’s been since I could freely be held like this. My sisters helped, but it wasn’t quite the same with them. It’s okay. This is something I need right now. I don’t care what your intentions are at this moment.”

Kanan searched her eyes for a few minutes before deciding that if anything, they were  _ pleading _ . He smiled again and pulled her back to his chest. He smelled like the treats he made before Sasha and Zeb arrived and Hera loved it. Kanan dragged his fingers gently through Hera’s short brown hair. He liked the brown well enough, but he did miss the blonde just a bit. 

It didn’t take long before Hera fell asleep. Kanan wasn’t so lucky. He lay awake most of the night thinking about how yes, he wanted to be with Hera more than anything and that he never for a moment actually counted on uprooting his life to return to Yekaterinburg. He liked the variety of Petrograd far more, the weather was nicer, and Petrograd had Hera. He wasn’t stupid enough to truly want to leave that all behind for a third of the year featuring snowfall. Hera was warm and already felt like home; he hoped Zeb didn’t plan on making him leave.

By the time Kanan and Hera woke up the next morning, still wrapped in each other’s arms, Zeb and Sasha had left to report to Petrograd HQ. They’d be back later in the day, but Kanan was thankful for his brief period of privacy with Hera.

“I want this.”

“Then take it.” Hera replied, carefully enunciating every “T”. Kanan bit his lip for just a moment before grinning and crashing into Hera. He kissed her hard and he didn’t care. He kept going until she ran into the wall, then stopped to laugh and regain his breath.

“We have to get to work.” He whispered.

“To each according to his need--and this is my need.” Hera was in the middle of reading some Marx. Kanan got her all the state’s literature after she made some blatantly wrong comment about communism that Kanan couldn’t even remember, but said she’d be willing to read about it.

“I’m not putting you in jeopardy and risking your life for a little fun. Zeb, Sasha, and I have put too much into saving you to throw it away over this. Give me time. This is...a lot to think about. But it’s something that will happen, so long as you don’t change your mind. I just have some things to deal with. I will have everything sorted before Zeb and Sasha leave tomorrow. And I’ll let him know I’ll be staying in Petrograd.”

“That sounds like a promise.”

“Because it is.” Kanan flashed one of his charming smiles and went through the door and down the road toward his factory. Hera watched him walk for a few moments before she made her way to her own job.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For a long while, Alix didn't really physically interact with her daughters due to her condition. Instead she wrote them letters begging for them to behave so that they didn't stress her out and exacerbate her sciatica. I think this would play a fairly big role in the kids' development, especially in Anastasia as the youngest daughter.


	6. October 31, 1918

October 31, 1918

With the passing of another month and a half, Hera noted how good everyone’s lives seemed to be. Their living conditions had improved far faster than they had under her father, and the people generally seemed happier. There was still some infighting, but none of that concerned Hera. The people loved Lenin, and much to the probable dismay of her family, so did she. Kanan took Hera to see him speak for the one year anniversary of the October Revolution and it was easy for her to see how seizing power had been a nonissue for him. She saw how the new government helped the people she worked with and many of them even flat out said it never would have happened under the Romanovs.

After one particularly stirring comment from Lenin, Hera pulled Kanan down so that she could whisper into his ear. She was sure it was something he didn’t expect to hear her say, but something that would make him happy all the same.

“I’m joining the Party.”

“Really?” Kanan put a hand on the small of Hera’s back and dug his thumb in with  _ just _ the right pressure to alleviate some of the tension growing there. “You?”

“My father was wrong. All of the Romanovs were. Every tsar. They should never have ruled. The people are happier now, people are free. Things are looking up for everyone. I need to leave my old life behind for good and I think this may be it. I’m joining the Party. That is the final thing I must do to bury Anastasia.”

“And you’re doing it on the anniversary of the Revolution. How patriotic of you.” Kanan grinned and laced his fingers with Hera’s. It made her smile--it always did--and she squeezed his hand as a rather loud cheer gripped the crowd. Kanan pulled her a bit closer--large crowds always made him nervous, especially given what happened after the crowning of Hera’s father. He hadn’t been alive for it, but the stories lived on even in the younger generations.

He guided Hera over to the Petrograd Soviet, making sure nobody got too close to them---to her. Lenin ended his speech and the spectators carefully dispersed. Hera became an official member of the Communist Party and she seemed far more excited by the concept than Kanan could have ever hoped for. 

“Come here, Hera. Let me keep you safe.” Kanan grinned on their way out of the building. Hera rolled her eyes but took a few steps closer to him. He was a dramatic man, but it made their life interesting, so it wasn’t something Hera ever felt like arguing about.

Hera laughed. “You just want to hold me.”

“Perhaps,” Kanan smiled, “Or perhaps I’m simply trying to get you within arm’s reach to ensure you don’t run around the house all night. You’ve done that.”

“I get restless.” Hera mumbled, leaning into Kanan’s arm. He smiled and took her hand again and held it the rest of the way to their house.

A few moments passed with Kanan cleaning the kitchen before he set an old scratched bowl on the counter. “What would happen to us if you were still royal?” 

“I’d probably never be allowed to marry you, but you’d still be my lover.” Hera said, not looking up from her newspaper.

  
“And if we did get married? If your family did allow it?”

“That would probably happen while my father still sat on the throne. If not him, then Alexei. After that, you would be made a Grand Duke, which is just a fancy way of calling you a prince.” Deciding the newspaper was boring that day, Hera pulled her collection of Chekhov’s best plays.

“And if you were empress?” Kanan asked, sinking into the couch next to Hera. He rested an arm on the back of the couch and only because it was sore--certainly not to have his arm around Hera, not that he needed an excuse to do so anymore.

“You must have royal blood to rule, so essentially the same title as if I were still a Grand Duchess.” Hera seemed exceptionally bored by the subject, but Kanan was sure that was because she’d spent so many years having the information drilled into her head. Her eyes were lively, anyway.

“And what would my duties be?” Kanan asked quietly. That question caught Hera’s attention and she raised a brow, but didn’t so much as glance at Kanan.

“To me, first and foremost. Then the people. You may not be emperor, but at the end of the day you still serve your subjects. You’d just serve me more..”

“So nothing would change?” Kanan chuckled.

“No, I suppose it wouldn’t.” Hera finally looked him in the eye and smiled. The thought of Kanan as a Grand Duke was laughable at best and she knew there was a reason why her parents wouldn’t have allowed her to marry so low beyond her, but the idea was a little entertaining. Kanan kissed her cheek and went back to work in the kitchen. Hera stared at the words in front of her, but couldn’t bring herself to focus on them. Her life had changed considerably over the last year; far more than she could have ever imagined, but she wasn’t sure that was a bad thing. Sure, she was living in a house that was smaller than the room she shared with Maria at the palace, but the bed was nicer, the company less cold, and her happiness, overall, had increased twofold. She’d lost a lot of things in 1918, but she stood to gain a lot, too.

Hera had Kanan. Kanan kept her safe and she did the same for him. 1918 wasn’t her best year by any means, but even given all that had happened, she was happy. She was excited to see what the future would bring for her, and she hoped that whatever came, Kanan was included.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Do you guys have any idea of how fun it is to write a spoiled, until-recently Grand Duchess? The answer is very. Very, very fun.


End file.
